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Every Loser Wins
Aug. 22nd, 2023 06:03 pmSo…Sunday…
It was London Seaward’s first game of the season, and they were showing the World Cup Final in the clubhouse before their own match. Naturally keen to see both games, I got the 7.32 train from Portsmouth and arrived at Barkingside at 10.30, half an hour before the final kicked off.
Walking up from Barkingside tube, I saw a man and woman in polo shirts bearing the badge of Actonians Ladies, our opponents. I asked if they were going to the ground, but they said they’d parked there and were going to a nearby pub to watch the final.
I found my way round to Oakside Stadium, London Seaward’s new home. On the gate I met Christine the chairlady, Tracey the fixture secretary and Sadrita the matchday manager. They were warm and friendly, and impressed that I make a three hour journey from Gosport. Mehdi the commercial manager came over and shook my hand. Christine presented me with my complimentary season ticket (for being a player sponsor).
In the bar the telly was showing the build-up to the Final and all the girls were there. A photographer had set up in the corner. Jo was wearing the blue England shirt as worn by the Lionesses; she was very busy, spending the first half rushing around, no doubt seeing to essential tasks. I ordered a lemonade (which turned out to be 7Up, which I actually prefer) and found a seat at a table behind the rows of players, with a couple of the matchday volunteers.
The anthems played, most of us sang along with the British one, and the game kicked off. I was glad to be there at Oakside, watching England Women’s biggest ever match, in company with the London Seaward people on a historic day for them. Alas, the Lionesses showed little of the sparkle that they’d displayed against China and Australia. Spain dominated the first half and went in front on the half hour.
I was distracted from my sinking feeling by Jo standing up and instructing the girls to all go and have their photo taken at some point and not all wait for half-time. A couple went over straight away.
Half time came. I went up to the bar and ordered a double amaretto. There I met Gareth the vice-chairman, who presented me with a complimentary copy of Carrie Dunn’s history of British women’s football Unsuitable For Females. He told me about the club’s hopes and ambitions, and said there was a lot about us in Carrie’s new book. I said I had it on pre-order, and Gareth told me Carrie was coming to our home game with Ashford on September 24th to promote it and would be happy to sign my copies of her books. Gareth told the barmaid he was no longer able to resist the burger smell that had been wafting across the bar, and he and I bought one each.
The Final restarted. Chloe Kelly had come on, and she helped rejuvenate the Lionesses into something more like what we know they’re capable of. But the referee allowed Spanish players to kick and shove England players; Lauren Hemp shot wide; Jess Carter failed to connect with a beautiful ball right across the box. Then Keira Walsh appeared to handle in the area.
We all sat hopeful that the VAR might go our way, but when the ref ran over to the sideline and drew a box in the air we all knew it was going to be a penalty.
“Come on Mary,” came exhortations from all over. Mary smothered Jenni Hermoso’s spot kick to provide us all with our one moment of euphoria of the entire match, some even jumping to their feet.
A Chloe Kelly header from a corner went to the goalie. Cheryl had her photo taken. I asked if she wanted one done with her sponsor: Jo said we’d do one after the Seaward match.
I returned to my seat to see Alex Greenwood, for me England’s best player of the tournament, receiving medical attention with a cut on her head. To relief all round, patched up she returned to the fray. With 87 minutes gone Beth England came on for Ella Toone; could she pull something out of her bag of tricks?
Alas, no. The fourth official’s board showing 13 minutes struck everyone as insane, but that was soon replaced by renewed hope as we realised that was 13 more minutes for England to score.
With the minutes dying, Alex Greenwood made a magnificent sliding tackle to stop a Spanish attack. Then with the 13 minutes up but the game carrying on, England won a corner. All of us were exhorting Mary Earps to get up into the Spanish goalmouth. She did. As the corner taker prepared to kick, I was calmly thinking : I would absolutely love Mary to score from this and write her name into women’s football folklore.
The goalie caught it.
The final whistle blew.
I rose from my seat, my heart heavy as lead. In front of me, though, the girls seemed chipper and relaxed. Maybe they were just focusing on their own imminent game. The first team squad got up from their seats and drifted off to the changing room. I headed back to the bar for a Guinness.
The reserve team players were treated to a PowerPoint by a coach. Before he started the presentation, he said a bit about how, despite the England game being disappointing, it was good to have events like this where the first-team and reserve players all got together and bonded for a shared experience.
The PowerPoint started, I drifted outside (my Guinness was in a plastic pint glass) and wandered aimlessly around. A couple of minutes with Christine, Tracey and Sadrita, who were talking about ways to promote the club in the area and get more people to matches.
England’s best chance of a Women’s World Cup. Gone. Still drifting, I softly sang the opening of Nick Berry’s 1986 Albert Square smash :
We nearly made it…we nearly found the perfect combination…
I returned to my lonely seat in the bar, slowly nursing my Guinness until 2.40, then went to take a seat in the stand, where Mick and the reserve team players were.
London Seaward were magnificent. The amazing Sam Lanza scored twice in the first half. At half-time, the only food the bar had left was crisps, so a bag of Ready Salted it was. Just before the hour, Actonians got, wait for it, a penalty for handball. Alas, Tia Ginn wasn’t able to emulate Mary Earps; the spot-kick was shot straight down the middle and into the net.
Sophie Lee, though, made the points safe for Seaward with a wonderful late strike from outside the area.
I went down to pitchside, and Jo sent me and Cheryl over to see Paul the pitchside photographer. We stood together, the perimeter fence between us. Cheryl at first thought the backdrop, a blue corrugated iron fence surmounting a concrete terrace, was a bit dingy, but then she conceded that it was in Seaward blue and Paul took a couple of pics of us. Unfortunately on my side of the fence there was a clump of nettles, against which my trousers provided only limited protection. Thankfully, the sting wore off on the tube journey.
Hit the Bagel Factory when I reached Waterloo. Made it home for Van Der Valk.
And yesterday back to work. Took down my World Cup wallchart.
It was London Seaward’s first game of the season, and they were showing the World Cup Final in the clubhouse before their own match. Naturally keen to see both games, I got the 7.32 train from Portsmouth and arrived at Barkingside at 10.30, half an hour before the final kicked off.
Walking up from Barkingside tube, I saw a man and woman in polo shirts bearing the badge of Actonians Ladies, our opponents. I asked if they were going to the ground, but they said they’d parked there and were going to a nearby pub to watch the final.
I found my way round to Oakside Stadium, London Seaward’s new home. On the gate I met Christine the chairlady, Tracey the fixture secretary and Sadrita the matchday manager. They were warm and friendly, and impressed that I make a three hour journey from Gosport. Mehdi the commercial manager came over and shook my hand. Christine presented me with my complimentary season ticket (for being a player sponsor).
In the bar the telly was showing the build-up to the Final and all the girls were there. A photographer had set up in the corner. Jo was wearing the blue England shirt as worn by the Lionesses; she was very busy, spending the first half rushing around, no doubt seeing to essential tasks. I ordered a lemonade (which turned out to be 7Up, which I actually prefer) and found a seat at a table behind the rows of players, with a couple of the matchday volunteers.
The anthems played, most of us sang along with the British one, and the game kicked off. I was glad to be there at Oakside, watching England Women’s biggest ever match, in company with the London Seaward people on a historic day for them. Alas, the Lionesses showed little of the sparkle that they’d displayed against China and Australia. Spain dominated the first half and went in front on the half hour.
I was distracted from my sinking feeling by Jo standing up and instructing the girls to all go and have their photo taken at some point and not all wait for half-time. A couple went over straight away.
Half time came. I went up to the bar and ordered a double amaretto. There I met Gareth the vice-chairman, who presented me with a complimentary copy of Carrie Dunn’s history of British women’s football Unsuitable For Females. He told me about the club’s hopes and ambitions, and said there was a lot about us in Carrie’s new book. I said I had it on pre-order, and Gareth told me Carrie was coming to our home game with Ashford on September 24th to promote it and would be happy to sign my copies of her books. Gareth told the barmaid he was no longer able to resist the burger smell that had been wafting across the bar, and he and I bought one each.
The Final restarted. Chloe Kelly had come on, and she helped rejuvenate the Lionesses into something more like what we know they’re capable of. But the referee allowed Spanish players to kick and shove England players; Lauren Hemp shot wide; Jess Carter failed to connect with a beautiful ball right across the box. Then Keira Walsh appeared to handle in the area.
We all sat hopeful that the VAR might go our way, but when the ref ran over to the sideline and drew a box in the air we all knew it was going to be a penalty.
“Come on Mary,” came exhortations from all over. Mary smothered Jenni Hermoso’s spot kick to provide us all with our one moment of euphoria of the entire match, some even jumping to their feet.
A Chloe Kelly header from a corner went to the goalie. Cheryl had her photo taken. I asked if she wanted one done with her sponsor: Jo said we’d do one after the Seaward match.
I returned to my seat to see Alex Greenwood, for me England’s best player of the tournament, receiving medical attention with a cut on her head. To relief all round, patched up she returned to the fray. With 87 minutes gone Beth England came on for Ella Toone; could she pull something out of her bag of tricks?
Alas, no. The fourth official’s board showing 13 minutes struck everyone as insane, but that was soon replaced by renewed hope as we realised that was 13 more minutes for England to score.
With the minutes dying, Alex Greenwood made a magnificent sliding tackle to stop a Spanish attack. Then with the 13 minutes up but the game carrying on, England won a corner. All of us were exhorting Mary Earps to get up into the Spanish goalmouth. She did. As the corner taker prepared to kick, I was calmly thinking : I would absolutely love Mary to score from this and write her name into women’s football folklore.
The goalie caught it.
The final whistle blew.
I rose from my seat, my heart heavy as lead. In front of me, though, the girls seemed chipper and relaxed. Maybe they were just focusing on their own imminent game. The first team squad got up from their seats and drifted off to the changing room. I headed back to the bar for a Guinness.
The reserve team players were treated to a PowerPoint by a coach. Before he started the presentation, he said a bit about how, despite the England game being disappointing, it was good to have events like this where the first-team and reserve players all got together and bonded for a shared experience.
The PowerPoint started, I drifted outside (my Guinness was in a plastic pint glass) and wandered aimlessly around. A couple of minutes with Christine, Tracey and Sadrita, who were talking about ways to promote the club in the area and get more people to matches.
England’s best chance of a Women’s World Cup. Gone. Still drifting, I softly sang the opening of Nick Berry’s 1986 Albert Square smash :
We nearly made it…we nearly found the perfect combination…
I returned to my lonely seat in the bar, slowly nursing my Guinness until 2.40, then went to take a seat in the stand, where Mick and the reserve team players were.
London Seaward were magnificent. The amazing Sam Lanza scored twice in the first half. At half-time, the only food the bar had left was crisps, so a bag of Ready Salted it was. Just before the hour, Actonians got, wait for it, a penalty for handball. Alas, Tia Ginn wasn’t able to emulate Mary Earps; the spot-kick was shot straight down the middle and into the net.
Sophie Lee, though, made the points safe for Seaward with a wonderful late strike from outside the area.
I went down to pitchside, and Jo sent me and Cheryl over to see Paul the pitchside photographer. We stood together, the perimeter fence between us. Cheryl at first thought the backdrop, a blue corrugated iron fence surmounting a concrete terrace, was a bit dingy, but then she conceded that it was in Seaward blue and Paul took a couple of pics of us. Unfortunately on my side of the fence there was a clump of nettles, against which my trousers provided only limited protection. Thankfully, the sting wore off on the tube journey.
Hit the Bagel Factory when I reached Waterloo. Made it home for Van Der Valk.
And yesterday back to work. Took down my World Cup wallchart.
